Rella
by MermaidDancer
Summary: Sweet, passionate, optimistic Rella has lives in a world that discourages magic. Nearly everyone doesn't believe in it, and those that do believe it to be evil. Against all odds, Rella firmly believes that magic is good and is determined to prove it.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't until I was eighteen years old that I considered magic as evil. Before then, I thought magic was incredible; it could always solve your problems. It could've saved Mama. It could've helped us out of debt. It could've stopped our kingdom's war before it started. I didn't think it could've destroyed the kingdom. I didn't think it could have caused more problems.

The king discouraged belief in magic. He claimed that if magic were real, then it would be unnatural and it would be outlawed. Magic would be dangerous if it were real. Plus, he had other matters to worry about. We were at war with the kingdom of Ramia. The war—called the Eternal Fight—had been going on for hundreds of years. We didn't even know what it was about anymore. That must've been another reason the king discouraged the belief in magic: if magic were real, the war wouldn't be happening. Still, some people in our kingdom of Lamont did believe in it. Not many, but some. Most people just didn't talk about it.

None of my family ever believed in magic, except for Mama. She believed in it to her dying day. I can still remember that day, eight years ago. Mama was on her bed, coughing violently. Every time she'd cough into the handkerchief, more blood would appear on it. I didn't know that she was dying. She'd been sick before, so I assumed she would be better by morning.

I was sitting on Papa's lap, my head resting on his shoulder. I was tired, but I wanted to stay with Mama.

My father held onto her hand, talking to her in a calm voice. "You should go to bed, Rella," he said to me, stroking my hair gently, but never taking his eyes off Mama.

I hesitated for a moment, but I was so very tired. "Okay," I said quietly, "Good night, Mama." I went to kiss her on the cheek, but she had another coughing fit, and Papa held me back.

"Good night, my dear Rella," Mama said.

"Will magic make you feel better, Mama?" I asked.

She smiled, even though she was in pain, "Magic _could _make me feel better dear. But, there's no need for it. I'll be better by the morning."

"Okay," I said, happily believing her.

Those were the last words we spoke to each other. I suppose that's why I'd always believed in magic. I wanted to honor Mama by believing that it was real and good, just like she had.

Papa never believed that magic existed, but he did respect that Mama and I believed in it. My stepmother, who Papa married when I was eleven, hated the idea of magic. She said I was a fool to believe in it, and that I should get my head out of the clouds and into reality. Her daughters, who were everything she thought young ladies should be, said magic was a ridiculous idea, and that I was an idiot to believe in it.

Even my best friend Rory didn't believe in magic. She said it wasn't practical. "Give me proof of magic, and then I'll believe in it," she told me once. I wasn't surprised when I found out she didn't believe in it. When she was little, she'd say that, if there was magic, there would be no suffering. Now, she said she didn't have time for believing in magic, because she had too much work to do. This was believable, since she had to run her family bakery all by herself, so I didn't press her into believing in magic.

But, I'd always known magic is real. I just didn't know it could do such horrible things.

Barely six months after Mama's death, my father remarried. He didn't ask me permission, he didn't tell me he was courting her, he didn't even let me meet my new mother until the day of the wedding. He had me dressed in a burnt-orange dress that my new mother had picked out. It was bulky, with huge puffed sleeves and countless bows on the skirt. My golden hair, which I had wanted to wear down, was kept back in an ugly brown net. I also found out that day that, not only was I getting a new mother, but two new sisters, too.

I was standing in the back of the church, waiting. Papa was in the front of the church already, but I didn't see my new mama yet. With me was a girl who looked about eleven years old, my own age. She had thin reddish-brown hair caught back in a net like mine. Her dress was in the same style as mine, except pea-green. "You must be Rella," she said in a loud voice that probably carried across the whole church.

"Yes, that's right."

She looked me up and down, as if deciding if I was worth her trouble. Apparently, I was. She gave me a toothy grin and curtsied, "I just know we're going to be best friends."

"Yes, I'm _sure _of it," I said in a hushed tone so my voice didn't carry. She smiled toothily at me again.

"I'm sure you already know, but my name is Jezebel. I will be your new older sister." She spoke so loudly that several people turned around.

"Uh huh," I said, standing on my tiptoes trying to see what was going on at the alter.

"You should look at me when I'm talking to you," Jezebel said noisily, "It's rude to ignore people."

"_Shhh!" _said a little girl who was sitting in the back. She was wearing a dark hooded cloak, which covered her hair. She looked about nine. I'd never seen her before. I thought I'd know all of the people at Papa's wedding.

Jezebel gasped loudly and said in shock and said to the little girl, "You can't talk to me like that! I am your elder!"

The girl stuck her tongue out and turned back around. Her mother scolded her quietly.

"Mama! Mama!" Jezebel shrieked, "_MAMA!" _

A woman who looked like an older version of Jezebel rushed over from a room behind us. She was wearing a white dress and a long veil, "Oh, my sweet girl," she said, "Whatever is the matter?"

Jezebel, with tears streaming down her face, pointed to the little girl, "Rory was being mean to me."

The woman allowed Jezebel to bury her face in her sleeve as she patted her head, "There, there, darling," she said. Her voice was louder than her daughter's, "After this, you can have all the cake you want. Would you like that?"

Jezebel sniffed, but most of her tears had been wiped away on her mother's dress "And…cookies?" Jezebel said.

"Oh, yes," said her mother, "and éclairs, and pies, and anything you could possibly want."

"Will you make Rory apologize?"

"No!" Rory whispered from her seat.

"Yes," Jezebel's mother said, "Absolutely, my love. She will apologize for disrespecting you. Now, where is your sister?"

Jezebel pointed at me and wrinkled her nose, "You mean _her_?"

_So much for being friends_ I thought.

"No, dear," said her mother, barely giving me a glance, "I mean your _real _sister.

"Persephone? She's…she's…there she is!"

Another little girl, about ten years old, was sitting crossed-legged by the church door. She was crying, although much more quietly than Jezebel.

"Persephone! Dear heart, what is the matter?"

"I'm tired!" Persephone complained. She was wearing a dress just like mine and Jezebel's, except mustard-yellow.

"Just a little while longer, dear. Then we can go."

"We're supposed to walk down the aisle now," I whispered.

My almost-mother gave me a withering look. "Do my daughters look like they take orders from a scrawny little child?" She said to me.

Then, turning toward Jezebel and Persephone, she said, "Now, darlings. Be good girls and walk down the aisle."

"Yes, Mama," said Persephone with a sniff.

Jezebel sighed loudly and said, "I suppose since it _is _your wedding day, I'll hold in my pain and do as I'm told."

"That's very kind of you dear! What sweet girls I have!"

"Hey!" Rory whispered furiously from her seat, "Everyone's waiting for you!"

I grabbed my basket of flowers and headed down the aisle, Persephone and Jezebel behind me.

In the banquet hall was commotion. Papa and my new mother were walking arm in arm, and everyone around them was cheering and throwing rice. In all the commotion, I found myself pushed to the back wall. I didn't mind. I wasn't too eager to see my Papa with that horrible woman. So, I just pulled up a seat from the nearest table, and sat down. Sitting next to me was the little girl who had shushed Jezebel.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," she said, fiddling with the pin that kept her cloak around her shoulders. She accidentally undid the pin, and the hood fell off her head, revealing her dark brown hair pulled neatly into a knot atop her head.

"I'm Rella," I said, "You're Rory, right?"

Rory glanced up at me. Her eyes were as dark as her hair. "You were a flower girl today," she said.

"Yes," I agreed.

"You should've been paying more attention to the wedding," she said, "and your dress looks ridiculous."

"That's rude!" I scolded.

She tilted her head sideways and raised her eyebrows at me. She was wearing a simple but nice brown dress under her cloak. "Do you _like _your dress?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you think your dress looks ridiculous?"

"Well…yes, a bit."

"Then I'm not being rude, I'm just telling the truth."

She was a strange little girl. Mama had always taught me to always be polite. This girl didn't seem to know the meaning of the word.

"Are you friends with Jezebel and Persephone?" I asked.

She shook her head, "We're neighbors. And, since you'll be moving in with them, I suppose I'll be your neighbor, too."

"Why do you say you aren't friends with Jezebel and Persephone?"

"Because we aren't. I don't like them, and they don't like me. Jezebel is too bossy and Persephone is too lazy. Jezebel and I used to be friends, but then she tried to cut my hair."

"Cut you hair? Why?"

"She wanted to make it into a wig,"

I looked over at Jezebel's hair. It was very thin. I laughed at the thought of her trying to make a wig.

"So that's why you don't like Jezebel?" I asked. Rory nodded. "Do you like me?" I asked hopefully. I didn't want to move into a new place and not have any friends.

Rory shrugged, "I don't dislike you. And you're certainly not like Jezebel or Persephone. So…yeah, I suppose I like you."

"A toast!" Papa said suddenly, standing and lifting his glass, "To my true love, Madge. May our love for each other be everlasting." He smiled at my new mother, and she smiled right back. The other adults in the room lifted their glasses as well.

"As if Madge could ever love someone," Rory muttered.

I suppose I should give Madge _some _credit. She really did love her daughters. That is, her _real _daughters. Jezebel could have anything she possibly wanted, and Persephone didn't have to lift a finger unless she wanted to. I didn't understand how she could just do _nothing _all day long. It was boring just thinking about it.

Our new house was much bigger than our old one. I know Papa only married Madge because of her wealth. "Love may come later on," he told me. After all, when Mama and Papa's marriage had been arranged, but in the end they turned out loving each other very much. Maybe Papa thought the same thing could happen with him and Madge.

Madge only married Papa because of his work. Since he's a merchant, she thought that it meant that she could have all sorts of lovely goods from foreign places. Apparently, she didn't understand that Papa only exported things. He took things from Lamont and sold them to other countries (not Ramia, of course). Occasionally, he'd bring back a dress or some spices or some cloth, but most of the time he didn't.

I remember when Madge found out Papa wasn't rich. It was a month after the wedding, late at night. I was lying awake in my bed, thinking, when I heard someone come into my room. "Rella! Wake up!" Jezebel said, throwing my covers off me.

"Why?" I complained.

"Come here!" Jezebel grabbed my arm and dragged me along. She brought me into her room and opened the closet door. Persephone was already sitting on the ground of Jezebel's closet, yawning. The closet was bigger than I thought it would be, with dozens of dresses, and a small door to the rear.

"Get up, Persephone!" Jezebel ordered.

She hauled Persephone and me to the small door in the closet and opened it up. She shoved the two of us inside and squeezed in after us. We were in a little room that was barely big enough for the three of us.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"Shhh!" Jezebel said, "Listen!"

I did, and I could hear yelling.

"We're right by our parent's bedroom," Jezebel said.

I could hear Madge shouting, "I don't care what you think, Arthur! I'll just pack up and leave now!"

"You and I both know that won't happen!" Papa shouted.

"We should leave," I whispered to Jezebel.

"No. We're going to stay."

"And tell me, dear," Madge said, "why do you think I'll stay?"

"Because you won't be able to stand the humility," Papa said, "If people think you've left _another _husband, they'll start to gossip about you. Pretty soon you and your daughters will be the laughing stock of the entire town."  
Jezebel gasped, "How could he say that! Mama only left our father because he was a lazy bum who didn't know the meaning of work!"

_That explains Persephone, _I thought.

"We should leave _now!"_ Jezebel demanded, pushing a complaining Persephone through the little door and into her closet.

Once we were in her room, I asked her, "Why did you want me to hear that?"

She smiled sweetly, "So you know that we do not now, nor will we ever, have any loyalty to each other. We may be stepsisters, but your father and my mother do not love each other, so we don't have to treat each other like sisters. So, you won't be getting any special treatment from me."

"I wasn't counting on it."


	2. Chapter 2

On my seventeenth birthday, I came downstairs, expecting my father to greet me. He'd been away, but he'd promised to be home in time for my birthday. He'd always have a nice present for me, even though we weren't rich. I didn't see him. It was still early, so I thought maybe he wasn't up yet.

That is, until I found his note. He'd left it on the kitchen table. It read:

Rella—

I'm sorry I can't be here for your special day, but something's come up. I'm needed to transport more supplies to the men at the front. I know it's not my usual job, but they were in desperate need of workers, and the pay is high. I'll be sure to bring you back something. Happy Birthday, my sweet daughter. I hope you have a merry day, and we can celebrate when I get back. I'm sure Madge and the girls will make it a very special day for you. I love you very much, dear.

-Papa

This wasn't unusual; Papa often was called on unexpected trips. Although, he'd never been called to bring supplies to the soldiers. Well, as he often said, "Money is money, and we need to earn it somehow."

There was a knock on the door. I walked from the kitchen to the front of the house to open it. Outside was Rory with a basket hanging from the crook of her elbow. "Wow, seventeen years old," she said, "Three more years and you'll be of age, and then you can leave this place and get your own job."

I stepped back to let her in, "And you still have five years," I told her.

"Don't remind me," she said bitterly. As soon as she turns twenty and becomes of age, Rory plans to move far away. She undid her cloak and set it on a chair, and then sat in the chair. Taking the basket from her arm, she opened it and took out a parcel neatly wrapped in blue cloth. "Happy Birthday."

"Rella!" said a loud voice behind me. Persephone's voice.

"For God's sake," Rory mutters from behind me.

I turned, "Yes, Persephone?"

"Whatever is that awful noise you're making? It's positively dreadful." Penelope placed a chubby hand on her forehead dramatically. She then felt it necessary to topple over onto the couch, causing a lantern to crash to the ground with a great _plunk!_ "Oh, dear!" Persephone said.

Madge came up behind her, apparently woken by the lantern crashing to the ground. "Penelope, darling," she said, stroking Penelope's dirt-colored hair, "What woke you?" then, she focused on me, "Rella, what are you doing up so early?" she said sharply. She made an advance on me, but tripped over the lantern that Persephone had knocked over. She managed to catch herself, but caused the lantern to roll over, which made quite a clamor.

"Just thought I'd embrace the morning, Madge." I told her.

"What is all this racket?" Now, Jezebel was here. Her thin hair was tied up into curlers, which she wore every night. I don't know why she bothered, because her hair always remained thin and straight.

"Dear Mama, are you alright?" Jezebel asked, "You look quite pale."

"Yes, Jezebel. I am fine."

Jezebel looked up and noticed me. She turned up her nose, like I wasn't even worth looking at. Then, she focused on Rory behind me.

Jezebel smiled sweetly, "Oh, _that explains it._ Mama, you don't have to worry. There was so much noise simply because that _child _is here."

Rory pursed her lips. She hated being reminded that she was younger than Jezebel. I thought she was going to make some snarky comment, but she didn't say anything. Probably because she knew it would only make things worse.

Jezebel walked up to Rory and handed her her cloak. "I think you should leave now. You're bringing evil spirits upon this house."

Rory took her cloak and put it on, saying, "There were several evil spirits here before I came in." She pretend to count, pointing at Madge, Persephone, and Jezebel, "Three, to be exact."

Jezebel looked murderous, but she managed not to scream.

Rory took something else out of her basket—a small muffin—and handed it to me with a "Happy Birthday, Rella," before walking out the door.

Madge sighed and put a hand to her forehead, as if she had a terrible headache. "Penelope, please get off the couch for a moment." Penelope obliged, with much grumbling and complaining. "Help me sit down, please, Jezebel," Madge said, and Jezebel did so. "Get me something cold for my head," she ordered me. I went to the kitchen, and opened a cupboard to get a towel. The parcel from Rory was still nestled unopened in my hand, so I put it down on the table and walked out the back door to the well.

"Morning, Rella!" Mrs. Jensen, a plump woman who ran the tailor's shop, said.

"Morning, Mrs. Jensen."

"You're up quite early,"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm going to the well."

"Whatever for? Surely you're not cooking this early!"

"No, but Madge wants something cool for her head."

Mrs. Jensen rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Horrid woman."

"I don't mind," I said, even though I really did. But, I didn't want people going around saying hateful things about a member of my family, even if she is my _stepmother_.

Mrs. Jensen shook her head and said, "Off you go then, Rella." I nodded goodbye and headed to the well.

After I got back home, Madge, Jezebel, and Penelope decided they needed to go back to sleep, since they had been "so rudely interrupted". Madge had left me a list of chores to do. She always did that when Papa was gone. The list was so long, I wasn't finished until noon. Thankfully, my stepmother and stepsisters were still sleeping at that point, and I allowed myself to go out.

First, I went and finally opened the parcel from Rory. The blue cloth it was wrapped in was nice—a light, silky texture, and the color was so light it was almost white. Inside the cloth was a small silver comb. I knew it wasn't real silver (Rory wouldn't be able to afford that), but the design was beautiful. I held it in my palm and watched it catch the light. Smiling to myself, I walked upstairs and put it in my drawer, where I found another pleasant surprise for me. In a small velvet pouch, there were two gold coins and another note from Papa:

Get yourself some lunch. Love, Papa.

"What are you going to get?" Rory asked me as we walked around our town square. Around us were dozens of carts, each selling different things. Flowers, sandwiches, fruit, bread, milk, cloth, beads, jewelry, dresses, vegetables…anything you could want, you could find in a cart in town square.

"I don't know," I said, although I really wanted some smoked sausages, "What would you like?"

"For God's sake, Rella," Rory said, looking at the sky in exasperation, "It's not _my _birthday. _You _choose what you're going to get."

I was about to suggest going to get some sausages when something caught my eye. Now, all the peddlers were shouting advertisements ("Fresh goat's milk and cheese right here!" "Get a beautiful bouquet for your sweetheart here!"), but one particular cart was especially crowed. I walked towards it.

It wasn't like normal carts. It was a small wooden stage, maybe sixteen square feet, and there was a man on it. He was talking in a low, mysterious voice. "What's he saying?" Rory said, standing on her tiptoes, as if being able to see him would also allow her to hear him.

"I'm not sure," I answered. But, before long, the man stepped down from the stage and chubby man with a bushy gray mustache took his place.

"Thank you, Jeffrey! Now, remember, anyone who can draw a bigger crowd than Jeffrey here will get this!" he pointed to a sack of gold coins at his feet, "But the rules are: you have to pay two gold coins, and the story you tell must be a true story."

"Let's try it," I said to Rory.

"I don't know any good stories."

"I might," I said, then, I raised my voice to the man, "I'll go, sir!"

"Don't waste your money!" Rory said.

"You sound like Jezebel," I told her, "and besides, it's like you said. It is _my _birthday."

Rory turned her nose up, "I do _not _sound like Jezebel."

The man with the gray mustache spoke again,"Ah, let the beautiful young lady come forward."

"This is a waste of time," Rory said. Still, we pushed our way to the front of the crowd (well, _she _pushed people aside and I apologized for her).

The man at the stage helped me onto the stage and I paid him my two gold coins. Only then did I wonder what story to tell. "What's your name?" the man asked.

"Rella."

"The beautiful Rella has come to tell us the story of—" he hushed his voice down, "what story are you telling?"

"Um." I looked at Rory for help, but she just laughed at me in an _I told you so_ way.

I glanced around, looking for something to give me an idea of what story to tell. There! The flower peddler's cart.

"I'm going to tell the story of a name," I said. The man shrugged and stepped down from the stage.

"Long ago," I began, "There was a beautiful young girl. She was as kind, brave and selfless as she was pretty, smart, and loved. But, unfortunately for her, her name was Rafflesia Rever. Most people didn't mind her name being Rafflesia, but she hated it. Rafflesia always believed that a name reflects who one is.

"Because, you see, a Rafflesia is an ugly, poisonous flower. It has no leaves or stem or roots; it is simply the blossom. That wouldn't be bad, if the blossom were pretty, but the Rafflesia flower has huge, ugly petals of a deep reddish brown, like dried blood." Several people were getting up and leaving now. I continued, "And in the center of the Rafflesia flower is a large hole, big enough for you to fall in—" I pointed at a child at my feet.

"But, worst of all was the smell that the Rafflesia flower gave off. This blossom smelt like rotting meat. Horrible meat that had been sitting out in the sun all day. And as beautiful, kind, clever, and loving as Rafflesia was, she didn't want to be associated with that terrible flower at all. She said that it hurt her pride and her heart to be named after such a vulgar thing.

"So, one day, she decided she should change her name. She said she would go out and find the most beautiful flower in the world; one that smelled sweeter than anything you could imagine, and was wonderful to gaze upon. She would find a flower that could reflect her own beauty and she would bring it back to her village and they would name her after the flower.

"So, that very same day, she set off to find a beautiful flower. She quickly she set off without telling anyone. She didn't want her friends to know about her plan. She started off in the morning, with the sun at her back, walking into the woods. She walked for miles and miles through the woods. She climbed over roots and stooped under branches. She saw many beautiful plants, but did not find a flower that suited her. For, although Rafflesia was beautiful and loved, she was also very vain, and she only wanted the most beautiful flower for her name.

Now, more people had gathered around, "The woods that Rafflesia was traveling through were very thick. By the time she was out to the other side, which was several days later, she was very hungry, very tired, but mostly very ready to find her flower. Outside of the woods, Rafflesia saw something shiny and flat laid out before her. By now, Rafflesia was so tired and thirsty that she assumed that the flat shiny thing was water. Rafflesia quickly bent down to catch a drink of water, and found, to her surprise, a beautiful flower waiting for her. It was delicate and white with a beautiful green stem and a yellow center.

"There were dozens and dozens of these lovely white flowers. They were floating on the surface of a beautiful clear pond. Rafflesia was the first to discover the water lily. And when she gazed upon their beautify reflecting upon the lake, she said to herself, 'Oh, how I wish my friends back in the village could see this. Oh, how they'd love this beautiful sight,' As soon as she said that, a beautiful woman raised out of the pond. She was a fairy that lived in the pond. Her skin was as white as the lilies and her hair was as glorious as the surface of the pond.

"She said to Rafflesia, 'My dear young girl, why do you seek this place? Have you come here for selfish reasons?' And Raffelsia answered, 'Madam, I first came here to seek a beautiful flower. The most beautiful flower there is. I wanted to find one that could equal my beauty, and to take its name, but I now see how vain I have been. These flowers are more beautiful than any human, and I would not dream of ever taking their name. I truly deserve to be called Rafflesia.' Rafflesia began to weep and fell to her knees, begging the forgiveness of the beautiful fairy.

"The beautiful fairy looked at Rafflesia and said, 'Rise, my child, and do not weep. You have proven yourself worthy of the name Lily, for that is the name of these lovely flowers. If you would have been dishonest, selfish, or vain, you would have been left with the name Rafflesia. But, you have been honest, selfless, and humble. Therefore you deserve any wish you would like. I will change your name to Lily now.'

"But, Rafflesia cried out, 'No, please don't! If I'm only to have one wish, let it be this: that the whole world may know of the beauty of this flower that you call the Lily.' The fairy was confused and asked, 'But you will be called Rafflesia for the rest of your days,' Rafflesia sighed and nodded, but she could not take the wish entirely for herself. She knew something as beautiful as the lily would have to be shared.

Now, I've gathered quite a crowd. Much bigger than the man who went before me. "And so the fairy granted her wish. And everyone came to know of the beauty of the lovely flower called the lily. Everyone also knew of the beauty of the girl named Rafflesia, and how she unselfishly gave up a splendor so the rest of the world could enjoy and marvel at the beautiful lily. She proved that, although names are important, our actions are even more important.

"Many years later, Rafflesia Rever gave birth to a baby girl. And, although by tradition last names should be passed on by the man, her daughter was named Lily Rever, so that everyone would remember her beautiful mother. And when Lily grew up, she named her daughter Violet Rever, because her favorite flower was a violet. And Violet named her daughter Daisy Rever. And so, this became a tradition in the Rever family: to name your daughter after your favorite flower."

Everyone around me started to clap, and the chubby man appeared on the stage again. "Thank you, Rella. What a beautiful story. However," he waved a fat finger in my face, "There is no way you can prove that this story actually happened, and you are therefore disqualified."

Everyone in the crowd protested against the man, but I shushed them, "Actually, I can prove this story." I held my hand out to Rory, and she climbed up onto the stage with me. "This is Aurora Scarlett Rose Rever," I said, "The great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter of Rafflesia Rever." Everyone cheered again. The chubby man reluctantly complied and handed me my sack of money.

"What are you going to name your daughter, Aurora?" someone asked from the crowd.

Rory thought for a moment. "Zinnia," she decided, which caused some cheers in the crowd.

"I didn't know you liked flowers," I told Rory.

"Neither did I, but I just looked over at the flower cart and saw some zinnias and thought 'hey, that would be a nice name!' so I just said Zinnia."

"Rory, you are _quite _the storyteller," I said, shaking my head and laughing.

"At least I don't tell a made-up story and claim it as the truth," was all she said.

"Hey!" I protested, "Your mother told me that story! It isn't made-up! She told me that's why she's named Lavender. And that's why your middle name is Scarlett Rose" I wasn't sure how Rory would take this; her mother had died only one year ago, leaving her alone with her grandmother.

But, she didn't seem fazed at all. She just smiled shook her head, "Sometimes I think you'remore like my mama than I am-no, actually it's just that you're too much like your own mama," she said as we walked toward the cart selling smoked sausages.

"You mean because of our mutual belief in magic?"

"Two smoked sausage sandwiches, please," Rory said to the vendor, before turning back to me, "Well, that and your gift for storytelling, and your optimism, and the fact that you're was always sweet to everyone."

I smiled. I liked being compared to Mama.

"I wonder why I didn't inherit any traits from my mama," Rory said quietly. I silently scolded myself. Rory is a very loud person, so when Rory gets quiet like that, so I know when she gets quiet like that, she's either sad or very angry.

"Sure you did. You were a lot like her," I said, accepting the sandwiches and paying the vendor for them.

She just laughed, and gently pushed me away as we walked back toward home, "You're a terrible liar." That wasn't necessarily true. Rory just knew me so well that she could always tell when I was lying.

"Maybe you're just like your papa, that's all," I said.

Rory's expression hardened again, "My father abandoned my mother when she was with child. He left me to grow up fatherless, and my mother to support me on her own. I do not want to be like my father."

I'd often thought about who Rory's father could be. I didn't know anything about him, except that he had left when Rory's mother was pregnant. Neither Rory nor her mother would ever talk about him. I knew it was rude to ask questions like that, but occasionally I would ask Rory. She'd never answer

"Maybe he had a good reason for leaving," I told her, "Maybe he went away on a trip, to get you and your mama a present, or to make more money for you. And maybe then he got lost on his way back"

"Right, Rella. And I suppose you also think that he's secretly a king in a far-off kingdom and some day he'll come and whisk me away to be a princess."

"It's not impossible," I said.

Rory rolled her eyes, "Yeah. It's not impossible. Just unlikely." She laughed, "With my luck, he's probably a pirate who'll come and kidnap me."

"Maybe he's Captain Hook," I said, laughing. I was referring to a known pirate in our lands. He was called Captain _Hook_ because he's infamous for having only one hand. Where his other hand should be, there is a hook.

Rory laughed, "That's more likely than him being a _king_."

I grinned, "Well, you never know. _Princess Aurora _sounds like a pretty good name to me."

"You could make a living off your story telling,"


End file.
